The Heiress Effect (41 page)

Jane did snort aloud at that.

“Your pardon?” Titus shook his head.

The countess gestured at Jane. “We are not
alone.”

“We aren’t?” Titus frowned, and then slowly,
he turned to see what the woman was indicating. His eyes fell on
Jane.

She’d imagined that he would look embarrassed
or fearful at the sight of her. She’d been blackmailing him, after
all.

Instead, he turned bright red. “You!”

He pointed, took a step forward. His hands
made fists at his side. “You!” he repeated. “What have you done
with your sister?”

It took Jane a moment to realize what Titus had
said. Her uncle advanced on her, his face blooming a brilliant
crimson. “What have you done with her?” he demanded. “I’ll have the
constable on you, I will. You can’t just rush in and grab her up,
simply because you wish.”

It came to her in a flash: Titus hadn’t sent
Emily away. And if she was gone nonetheless…

Jane couldn’t help herself. She’d been caught
up with worry for the past two days. She had faked her own
elopement, had been abducted, and then rescued. She had traversed
half of England believing that her sister’s fate hung in the
balance. She’d been as big a fool as Titus. She burst into
laughter.

“Stop that,” Titus said. “And surrender your
sister, or I’ll—I’ll—” Failing to come up with an adequate threat,
he narrowed his eyes at her. “Or I’ll be very displeased.”

“I don’t have Emily,” Jane said. “I’m only
here because I thought
you
had her put in an asylum.”

He blushed fiercely. “Why—uh—why would you
think that? I certainly—well, I—which is to say, I was having her
examined
by physicians, to see if such a thing was possible.
She was acting so…so differently. Less exuberantly. I was afraid
that she was succumbing to melancholy, and was considering my
choices.”

“Listen to you. She yells at you, and you
think she’s disobedient; she stops yelling, you think she has
melancholy. Can she win? No.”

He flushed. “I just wanted to make sure she
didn’t go untreated. Yes, I talked to a few physicians, and yes,
one of them said that he’d be willing to certify her, if I paid—”
He cleared his throat loudly. “But the other two said she seemed
quite in her own mind.” Perhaps Titus realized that he was telling
her details of his plan that didn’t reflect highly on him. He shook
his head swiftly. “Which is to say, it was all your fault. Your
influence. You did it. And you have her. You can’t bluff me!”

“Emily has herself,” Jane said. “She always
did. That’s what is so funny—that I came all this way to rescue
her, and…”

Titus waved a hand at Jane. “You’re claiming
that your sister just
ran off?
On her own two feet without
any encouragement from you at all?” He looked dubious.

“Why not?” Jane asked. “I ran off myself, and
she’s almost my age.”

“But you…”

“Yes, I have money. But last I’d heard, you
hadn’t found the hundred pounds I gave her. I imagine that when she
ran off, she hired a coach. Or took the train.”

He flushed. “I wasn’t going to mention funds.
I was referring to the fact that you are whole.”

Jane felt her temper snap. She crossed the
room to him. She was taller than him; how had she never noticed
that? Probably because she had never stood this close, quivering
with years of resentment. She slammed her hands into his chest.

“Emily,” she said through gritted teeth, “is
whole.
She has
fits,
that’s all. Joan of Arc had
fits, and look what she managed to accomplish. The only person who
is broken here is you, for being unable to see it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When we find Emily, you’ll discover that
she’s safe. That she had a plan. That she acted intelligently and
rationally in the face of
your
stupidity.” Jane shook her
head. “Good God, you were trying to have her declared mentally
incompetent by bribing doctors. Of all the low, dirty tricks—”

She remembered a moment too late that perhaps
she could not claim the moral high ground on the bribing-of-doctors
front, and so she glared at him instead.

“Rational.” Titus sighed. “She can’t be
rational. I had only a note from her saying that she was going to
meet her barrister. Her
barrister.
She doesn’t have a
barrister. I would know if she had one.”

Jane felt her heart give a sudden thump, and
she wanted to laugh aloud again. Trust Emily to send Jane a message
out in the open, one that their uncle would never decode.

“Well,” Jane said, “then she is probably
going to get one. If you were planning on having her declared mad…”
She trailed off.

“It’s not rational,” Titus said. “She’d need
a solicitor first, not a barrister, and he would then go and get…”
He shook his head. “I suppose that’s where I should start looking,
then. I’ll begin to ask around London. See if anyone has seen a
young girl asking barristers for help.” He frowned glumly. “If you
should happen to find her, tell her… Tell her I’m willing to
reconsider.” He swallowed. “I’ll sign a paper if she wants. I
just…I want her to be safe. That’s all I want. That’s all I’ve ever
wanted.”

The sad thing was, Jane believed him. He’d
wanted her safe, and safe he’d kept her. He’d kept Emily so safe
that he’d shielded her from everything else, too. When she’d
screamed about it, he’d accused her; when she’d stopped screaming,
he’d wondering why she was so altered.

But then, Titus had only given her the things
he wanted for himself. He’d stayed in Cambridge long after his
university days had ended, wanting to think the same things over
and over. She almost felt sorry for him.

Almost. Then she remembered Emily’s
scars.

“If I find her,” Jane promised, “I’ll tell
her what you said. But where to start searching?” She glanced away
as she said that so that he wouldn’t see the knowledge in her
eyes.

“Where indeed.” Titus nodded glumly. And
then, he reached and very lightly tapped Jane’s shoulder. “I can
see it now,” he said. “You do worry for your sister. Even though
you do it all wrong—I can see you care for her, in your own deeply
troubled manner.”

It was almost as if they were having a moment
of sympathy. Jane nodded; he pulled his hand back from her shoulder
and then quietly left the room.

“I suppose you know which barrister she’s
visiting?” the Countess of Cambury asked. “I would have said more
to force the issue. But it hardly seemed necessary.” She shrugged,
and then smiled at Jane. “You handled yourself very well.”

Jane smiled back. “Of course I know where she
is,” Jane said. “At least, I know his name. Or, rather, I know the
sound of it—and I don’t think he’ll be that difficult to find.”

Earlier that day in London…

Anjan didn’t think he was ever going to get
used to the noise of London. He’d grown up in a more populated
city. One might have thought, he supposed, that London was nothing.
But the noises here were a totally different thing. Nothing he
could pinpoint aside from a collective
wrongness.

It bothered him, that difference, even at the
desk he had in Lirington and Sons.

Anjan had a position. A position with a
battered desk in the copyists’ room, true, and never mind his
graduation with honors or his recent admission to the bar. But it
was a start, and for a start, he’d smile and sit with the copyists.
Once he made himself invaluable, matters would begin to change.

As if in answer to that, George Lirington
opened the door to the room. He looked over the bent heads of the
scriveners before his eyes lit on Anjan.

“Ho, Batty,” he said. “You’re wanted.”

Anjan stood. Lirington and Sons specialized
in maritime issues. They’d hired Anjan for a number of reasons—not
least of which was the fact that he spoke both Hindi and Bengali.
Being able to understand the lascars aboard ships had its
benefits.

Anjan reached for his notebook and stood. “Is
it the Westfeld accounts again?”

Lirington shook his head. “No. It’s a lady.
She’s alone and she wants to hire us.” He glanced at Anjan
curiously. “She asked for you by your full last name.”

“Tell me it’s not my mother.” She’d arrived
in London a few weeks past, and even though he’d let her know, very
nicely, that she couldn’t visit him at work… Well, she
was
his mother.

“No, I said already. She’s a lady.” He looked
at Anjan again. “I didn’t know you knew any ladies, Batty. You’ve
been holding out on me.”

Anjan hadn’t realized he knew anyone who
might visit. He simply shrugged, gathered up his notebook, and
followed his friend. They traversed the file room, and then turned
into the front chambers. The room nearest the entry was used for
discussions with clients. The door was ajar a few inches; Lirington
stepped inside and nodded to someone there, just as Anjan came in
behind him.

He stopped dead in the doorframe.

Emily—Miss Emily Fairfield—was standing at
the window.

She had always looked marvelous, but she
stunned him now. Her hair shone in the daylight that streamed from
the windows. She wore a blue muslin gown, so different from the
walking dresses he’d seen her in. Those had sported gathered
sleeves and loose waists. This, though—this fit her figure to the
waist as if it had been poured over her body. He and Lirington
paused in the doorway together and issued a joint sigh of
appreciation.

Anjan didn’t know what to think. She was here
after all these months. What could it mean?

Lirington—perhaps, Anjan thought, because he
did not know Emily—recovered first.

“Miss Fairfield,” he said. “I’ve brought Mr.
Batty, as you requested.” He walked to a chair and gently pulled it
out for her. “Please sit,” he said, “and tell us how we might be of
service to you.”

She glided over to the table, slid her hands
over her skirts, and then—Anjan swallowed hard—folded herself
gracefully into the chair.

“Batty,” Lirington said over his shoulder,
“fetch some tea, would you please?”

She frowned at that, a slight hint of
darkness flitting across her features.

When Anjan returned with a tray, she was
seated properly, looking as comfortable in the chair as if she took
tea in the office every day.

“You know, Miss Fairfield,” Lirington was
saying, “I do hope we can find a way to be of service to you, but I
suspect we will not. You’ll have to find a solicitor, of course,
although I have some excellent suggestions there. And our specialty
is maritime matters. So if you would tell us what it is that is
bothering you…?”

“If you can’t help me,” Emily said calmly,
“I’m sure you can refer me to someone who can. I had hoped you
would listen to my story.”

“Of course,” Lirington said smoothly.

She had gazed at Anjan briefly when he’d
returned to the room—a cool, questioning look. But she folded her
hands and contemplated them now without sparing him a second
glance.

“My uncle is my guardian,” she finally said.
“I have a medical condition, one that Doctor Russell here in London
says is a convulsive condition.” Her fingers played with a button
on her cuff. “There is no cure for it, not one that has been
discovered, at least.” She shrugged. “It is an annoyance, of
course, but it leaves me in no danger.”

Anjan nodded, remembering the fit he had
seen.

“My uncle,” she continued, “nonetheless
wishes to seek a cure. He believes that no man will wish to marry
me until the matter is resolved.”

So saying, she set her hands to her cuff at
her wrist and very deliberately undid it.

“I say,” Lirington said. But he didn’t speak
beyond that. He stared at the pale skin of her wrist, utterly
riveted at the sight, leaning forward. Anjan wanted to smack his
friend or turn him away from the sight of her skin.